


Diaphanous

by sciencefictioness



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Knotting, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Patricide, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23202112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: They have cell phones tucked away in the folds of their gi.  Guns holstered alongside their katana. Biotics in their medical suites, herbs in their tea.  The modern world creeps in where it is useful, and is kept out where it is not. Hanzo isn’t usually particular.He killed Sojiro with his sword.  That, at least, felt important. The elders aren’t surprised; it is how most of their leaders have ascended for generations, whether they admit it or not.  It would have been stranger for Sojiro to linger, an old man on his deathbed.Hanzo slit his throat in the temple, slipping up behind him, Sojiro on his knees.  Praying. Pretending to pray.Genji, he said, clutching at the wound.  Hanzo circled him, eyes lit up with power— power Sojiro had given him, then tried to bend to his will.  When he saw Hanzo there, Sojiro smiled, brows drawn in surprise.Hanzo, he said, listing to the side and catching himself on his palm.  I knew you had it in you.Of course he knew.  Sojiro was the one who put it there.There are assault rifles next to shuriken in the armory.  Suits next to hakama and gi in Hanzo’s closet.When it comes to finding their scion a mate, they do things the old way.
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 9
Kudos: 171





	Diaphanous

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Shimadacest day three, 'Gold'.

They have cell phones tucked away in the folds of their gi. Guns holstered alongside their katana. Biotics in their medical suites, herbs in their tea. The modern world creeps in where it is useful, and is kept out where it is not. Hanzo isn’t usually particular. 

He killed Sojiro with his sword. That, at least, felt important. The elders aren’t surprised; it is how most of their leaders have ascended for generations, whether they admit it or not. It would have been stranger for Sojiro to linger, an old man on his deathbed,  _ the clan is yours now, Hanzo. _

_ Make me proud. _

Hanzo slit his throat in the temple, slipping up behind him, Sojiro on his knees. Praying. Pretending to pray.

_ Genji,  _ he said, clutching at the wound. Hanzo circled him, eyes lit up with power— power Sojiro had given him, then tried to bend to his will. When he saw Hanzo there, Sojiro smiled, brows drawn in surprise.

_ Hanzo,  _ he said, listing to the side and catching himself on his palm.  _ I knew you had it in you. _

Of course he knew. Sojiro was the one who put it there.

There are assault rifles next to shuriken in the armory. Suits next to hakama and gi in Hanzo’s closet. 

When it comes to finding their scion a mate, they do things the old way.

For days, Hanzo’s life is nothing but silk against his fingers and the heady scent of alphas in his nose. A call is sent out to their allies— other yakuza, business partners, wealthy associates of the clan. It’s one they’ve been expecting since word spread of Sojiro’s passing. The Shimada are far from the only ones who still follow tradition, here. Many betas still meet through miai arranged by their parents.

Alphas and omegas from affluent families still hold scenting ceremonies. 

Usually it is an alpha of high standing, choosing their mate from a pool of omegas their parents or elders have hand-picked. Omegas send strips of silk in offering, soft fabric soaked in the oil from their scent glands. They breathe them in one by one, narrow their options down to those whose scents draw them in the most. 

Then they wait for the alpha to go into rut, and hold the ceremony; the omegas are given tea to induce their heats and bound to stone altars, covered in silk from their heads to their waists. They’re left with their lower bodies bare, legs pulled wide with ropes around their ankles and knees. There’s another strip of silk draped over their sex, something easily pulled away— it isn’t the point, here. The scent glands on the inner thighs are the largest, the most potent. 

The alpha goes down the line, pressing their faces to them one by one and breathing in their scents. It doesn’t matter what they look like or which family they belong to, right then. Only the way they smell, and the heat it stokes in the alpha scenting them. They take their pick, mate them then and there. The silk is pulled away after they’re knotted together to show them who they’ve chosen.

It’s rarer for an omega to hold a scenting ceremony, but not unheard of. The Shimada clan has had an omega scion before, on more than one occasion. Hanzo is far from the first.

The elders try to take over the preliminary selection process, but Hanzo will have none of it. Dozens of alphas send in silk drenched in their scent, along with small tributes to the Shimada clan— tributes to Hanzo. There are weapons, fine omegan robes, expensive jewelry. Everything is nice enough, but Hanzo has nicer.

It’s hard to find a gift for an omega that has everything.

He can only scent so many each day before the smells start to blur together. The process is slow, but not tedious. He can taste the want on most of these alphas, the hunger soaked into the silk. The raw need. It’s something he’s scented countless times.

Something he learned from Genji, first.

Something he scents on Genji, always.

When they spar in the dojo. When they soak in the baths. When they are out in the night together, Hanzo’s blade sinking between someone’s ribs to still the wild beating of their heart. When Genji comes into his room in the dark and crawls into Hanzo’s bed, mouthing at his throat,  _ anija, please, I need you. _

Genji cannot have him, no matter how much Hanzo wants it, too. For the clan, the scenting ceremony is sacred. Absolute. Hanzo’s mate will be chosen there, or not at all, and a scion without a mate won’t be scion for long. They kiss in the darkness, Genji whining like he’s injured, grinding himself against Hanzo and pleading.

_ We can run away together. None of this matters. _

_ Fuck the clan. Fuck everything.  _

_ All I want is you. _

All Hanzo wants is Genji, but the clan would never let them go. He’s seen the way they hunt down their enemies, how they chase them to the ends of the earth. They could run, but they’d never have peace.

They’d have each other. For a while.

Then they’d have swords in their backs, and nothing at all, the clan washing their hands clean of two errant sons.

Hanzo will be in heat soon. Alphas start sending in their silks, and Genji disappears into himself. He doesn’t come to the dojo, or ask Hanzo to join him when he goes out with his men to take care of clan business. He doesn’t eat beside him. Doesn’t meet his eyes.

Doesn’t crawl into Hanzo’s bed at night to kiss him, or sit too close in the baths; one hand easing between Hanzo’s thighs under the water, brushing over the sensitive folds of his slit. Deeper, and deeper, until Hanzo whines and tugs his hand away.

Genji’s absence is like a wound— Hanzo wants to press into it, feel the way it aches. All his life, Genji has been everything for Hanzo. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive losing him. Doesn’t know how to exist without Genji there.

Still, there is nothing to do but move forward. He sifts through silk that smells like lust, like alphas who aren’t Genji. Alphas who want him and don’t even know him. There are dozens of suitors, but only a select few can take part in the ceremony. Hanzo must narrow it down to seven. 

There’s not as much nuance to their scents as Hanzo would expect. Some are better than others, but it’s a subtle thing. In the end, it’s easy enough.

None of them are Genji. Hanzo picks his seven alphas, their desire thick in his lungs. Clinging to his fingers, filling up his chest.

He goes back into his room when he is finally done and digs one of Genji’s training gi out of the back of his closet. It’s filthy with his sweat, laden with his scent. Hanzo lays in bed and presses it against his nose, breathing Genji in, fingers shoved roughly into his cunt. He comes with traces of Genji on his skin, the only way he knows how. 

Hanzo doesn’t know how to want anyone except Genji, but Genji is further away than he’s ever been.

Hanzo holds Genji’s gi close, fingers still soaked in slick, and shuts his eyes.

-

They hold the ceremony at one of the temples dotted along the edges of Hanamura. It’s considered a sacred affair, a marriage of sorts; they won’t need to hold another ceremony afterwards. The scenting binds an alpha and omega more thoroughly than any exchanging of vows.

Hanzo will be mated when everything is said and done. Will be married. Will have an alpha’s teeth in him, scarred into his skin, another tattoo he didn’t ask for.

Something else he bears for the clan in silence.

The temple has been closed for the proceedings, everything arranged by a third party to maintain anonymity, in keeping with tradition. Hanzo is outside with elders and a smattering of high ranking lieutenants; his strongest enforcers, his favorite soldiers. It’s considered an honor to be invited to the ceremony, one it costs Hanzo nothing to bestow. 

He wants his best men close, always. The clan is a pit of snakes, and he would be a fool to trust them blindly.

The priests say a few words, ringing a set of bells afterwards to signal that Hanzo can enter. He pauses just past the entryway; takes off his shoes, his outer robes. Several of the elders follow him at a distance, Hanzo’s men a few steps behind them.

Hanzo is left in a dark blue robe, sheer and gauzy as it slides against his skin. He pulls the tie from his hair, lets it fall to the floor. The alphas wait through another doorway, a dozen feet away.

He can scent them, like he’s been scenting them for a week now. His heat has been simmering low in his blood the whole time, surging higher over the past few days until it is impossible to ignore. He got himself off a half-dozen times that evening before they departed. There’s already slick dripping between his thighs. 

Hanzo doesn’t want these alphas.

Hanzo wants Genji, but his instincts are rife with need. If one of them is all Hanzo is allowed, he will take it eagerly. Denying himself is impossible.

Hanzo is empty, and he aches.

There is no incense burning as he moves deeper into the temple, feet bare against the wood floor. The innermost room is lit by artificial candles, LEDs burning in sconces all around. Seven stone altars sit in a row, inset in the wood along the far wall, an alpha laid out atop each one and bound in blue rope. Their hands are affixed above their heads, coils twisted around their chests and hips. The altars end just beneath their knees, feet pressed flat against the floor, ankles secured to sturdy metal rings. Hanzo can only see part of the bindings.

There are curtains hanging high above each altar, overlapping one another, shimmering gold cloth draped over the alphas just above their hips. All Hanzo can see are their feet, their calves, their thighs. The jut of their cocks, all of them hard. 

All of them in rut, induced by herbs, instinct eating them alive.

Some of their shafts are already thicker at the base, knots half swollen as they leak onto their bellies. They’ve caught Hanzo’s scent now, laced with heat and slick. They all begin to shift restlessly in place, tugging at their bonds. A few of them are growling low, hips rolling as they fuck into empty air. One of them is crooning. 

Hanzo’s breath hitches at the sound.

Their scents are so thick with rut that it’s hard to distinguish them from one another. They’re all familiar; Hanzo has scented them before. He walks over to the alpha on the far right, dropping soundlessly to his knees. The glands on the inside of their thighs are inflamed, swollen and clearly visible under the skin. Hanzo sits up, laying his palms gently on the alpha’s thighs as he leans forward until his nose is almost touching them. 

The rut is something he can taste like this, even just breathing it. They smell good— better than good. They smell  _ delicious.  _ Hanzo shoves his face into their skin, rubs his cheeks back and forth over the glands. The alpha growls loudly at Hanzo’s touch, the rest of them echoing the noise, aggressive instead of lustful.

There’s warmth coiling in Hanzo, but it’s heat without a spark. This alpha’s scent is good, the way any alpha’s scent would be good; Hanzo’s instincts want a knot, and nothing else. He pulls back and stands again, moving to the next altar. This alpha is heavier. Thicker legs, a bigger cock. 

Hanzo breathes him in, mouth on his glands and palms on his thighs. The alpha snarls. Disappointment, again. A body that would satisfy the hunger in his own and nothing more. It isn’t their fault. It is Hanzo’s.

It is Genji’s.

The third alpha is even less remarkable than the first two, pulling harder at the ropes than any of the rest, making muffled noises like they had to gag him to keep him quiet.

When Hanzo gets to the fourth, he goes still. Goes silent. Turns his head to the left, breathing in so deep his lungs ache. His feet carry him to the sixth alpha, next to last in the row. Hanzo is on his knees in an instant, cheek laid against their inner thigh with his mouth open. He clutches at their thighs. Whimpers. Shakes. He’s dripping on the wood underneath him, so wet that it’s obscene.

Genji is here. 

Of course he is here. Genji would never leave him behind.

Genji is Hanzo’s everything.

Hanzo doesn’t know how he did it— his scent wasn’t on any of the silks Hanzo sampled, he would have  _ known _ — but it doesn’t matter now. The results of the ceremony are inarguable. Hanzo chooses, and there is nothing anyone can do. He can hear Genji crooning, again. Doesn’t know how he didn’t recognize the sound right away. He’s heard in the pitch black of his room time and time again, softly in his ear,  _ please, anija, please. _

Hanzo opens his mouth and lays the flat of his tongue against Genji’s scent gland, moaning as he licks up the taste of him. The ropes protest as Genji pulls at them, his muscles flexing against their hold. Now the traces of the other alphas on his skin smell bitter. Hanzo wrinkles his nose, rubs himself more intently against Genji’s glands to try and wipe everything else away.

Genji’s knot is half-formed, throbbing thicker as Hanzo groans into him. He lays his face against Genji, nose buried in the thick curls where his cock meets his stomach. Hanzo breathes in slow, breathes in deep.

He doesn’t realize he’s got his fingers working furiously in his cunt until he comes like that, shaking at Genji’s feet.

Someone clears their throat behind him. Hanzo looks over his shoulder to throw them a glare at him for the interruption, need rising so sharply it’s like a blade between his thighs. He needs Genji’s knot. Needs it  _ now.  _

Kou is standing a few yards away, face giving nothing away. Hanzo’s cousin, his best lieutenant. Genji’s right hand. He inclines his head, brows raised meaningfully. Kou doesn’t flinch under the look— he is used to Hanzo’s glaring, and it isn’t going to start bothering him now.

Hanzo cannot have what he wants just yet. Custom dictates that he scent every alpha before making his choice; if he doesn’t, the results can be disputed. 

Hanzo cannot have that, either.

He presses kiss to Genji’s hip, squeezing them once.

“Give me a moment,” he whispers. Genji whines and tenses in his ropes.

Hanzo gets to his feet and backtracks, giving the two alphas he skipped over the briefest of attention. A sharp inhale, fingers brushing over their glands. The scent is enough to make him recoil, now, stomach churning in distaste. He passes Genji on his way to the seventh alpha, repeating the gesture. Just enough to be safe.

Enough that no one can protest. Once things are finished, the elders will love any excuse, and Hanzo can’t give them a single one. 

When he comes back to Genji, Hanzo wastes no time. He crawls on top of him, careful not to pull on the curtain as he straddles his thighs. The fabric is translucent, but there are enough layers that all Hanzo can see ahead of him is endless diaphanous gold. Genji’s croon surges louder as Hanzo settles in place, rubbing the folds of his slit up and down the length of his cock. 

He reaches down between them and eases Genji into his cunt, the slide wet and hot and perfect. Hanzo has used toys before, fucked himself on his fingers, but it was nothing like this; having Genji inside him steals Hanzo’s breath.

Hanzo is full like he’s never been, the hunger in him flaring even higher. He rolls his hips once, moaning at the sensation.

Then he leans back and lays his palms flat on Genji’s thighs behind him, and starts riding him hard. Hanzo’s head lolls back, legs trembling with the strain. Heats make an omega looser, make them more pliant.

Make it easier for an alpha to pin them down and take them; Genji will, in time, Hanzo knows. It will be all he wants.

First, however, Hanzo has to coax out his knot. Genji is rocking into him as best he can, but the ropes have no give. He snarls, and croons, desperate just like Hanzo— desperate to touch, desperate to taste. It’s only a matter of minutes.

They’ve been waiting far too long.

Hanzo comes hard, slick pulsing out around Genji’s cock to drip down his thighs and pool on the stone. Genji’s knot throbs, and swells, and soon all Hanzo can do is grind as they are locked together. Thick bursts of heat fill Hanzo’s belly, Genji shivering as Hanzo’s body milks his knot in waves. Genji will keep coming until his knot goes down. Will keep shivering, and growling, and whining. 

It takes a few moments for Hanzo to catch his breath, but when he does he throws an impatient look over his shoulder. Kou is still there, standing at attention, something dark and glittering in his gaze. He signals to the priests, who immediately get to work; they release the other alphas, first, tugging the curtains down over them and escorting them out through the back. Even now, he isn’t meant to see them.

It feels like it takes ages, but every rush of heat in his belly soothes the ache in Hanzo— makes him docile, and content.

Finally they get to Genji, untying the ropes holding him down. As soon as his arms are free he’s touching Hanzo, hands slipping beneath the curtain to rub at his thighs. There are indentations from the ropes around his wrists, dug into the skin where he was tugging at them. It’s trickier getting his thighs unbound— they have to work around Hanzo, and every time they get close to touching him, Genji snarls viciously. They end up doing it themselves, Genji and Hanzo shifting around as best they can with the curtain still between them, unwinding the ropes and tossing them away. His ankles come last, Genji flexing his toes, making Hanzo twitch with the movement.

Now there are only the curtains, two of them blocking Genji’s view of the other altars, the last one blocking Hanzo’s view of Genji. The elders have all drifted into the room now, along with the rest of Hanzo’s men, everyone eager to see who will be leading the clan alongside him. The priests bow and tug them down, laying the fabric over the two of them like a blanket.

Genji is smiling— a wide, euphoric thing. He tugs Hanzo down into a kiss, and Hanzo goes easily, pressing into it like he always does. Like he always will. Everything is unnaturally quiet.

When Hanzo breaks away and glances behind him, Kou has drawn all Hanzo’s lieutenants and guards in tight half circle around the altar. He is facing Hanzo, but the rest are facing outwards.

Facing the elders and their men, waiting.

Kou would cut through them all, if Hanzo said the word, but it isn’t necessary. The elders are all pale and unhappy, mouths pulled into thin lines. Some of them look angry. Others merely confused. 

This won’t be the end of it, but the rest will be simple enough. Hanzo knows the languages they speak the best. Diplomacy. Deceit.

Violence.

He will be fine. Genji will be fine.

“I don’t think you need an introduction,” Genji says, glaring at the elders. 

“You may go now. Your presence is no longer required,” Hanzo adds. Kou’s men take a step forward.

The elders drift out of the temple, taking all their quiet fury with them. 

“We didn’t have to run,” Genji says, lashes fluttering as another burst of heat fills Hanzo. There’s come dripping from around his knot now, messy on Hanzo’s thighs.

“No,” Hanzo agrees, laying down on him to bring their mouths together. “We didn’t.”

Kou and his men stay there, stoic and blank faced as they fuck again, until the need in Hanzo fades enough that they can stumble out to the car. It takes them back to Shimada castle.

Takes them back home. Genji crawls into Hanzo’s bed, and Hanzo parts his thighs. Genji is his past. Genji is his future.

Genji is everything.

_ Please, Genji, please. _

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things!


End file.
